Every spring, the high school in our town hosts a district-wide art show. It’s a chance for students of all ages to show off their talent. One lap around the gym and it’s clear that there’s no shortage of amazing in our town.
From kindergarten drawings to middle school ceramics to furniture to fashion, the creativity blows me away. Every year.
The center section of the gym showcases the senior AP Art students’ portfolios. F., my artist, pauses in front of each display and soaks it in.
“Do you think I could do something like that someday?”
“Without a doubt,” I say. There are no limits to what that boy will achieve.
As we walk, I notice notebooks and pens lie in front of each display. Please leave comments the artist scribble in a black sharpie across the cover.
I pick up a pen and notebook and turn to a blank page.
“What are you doing?” A. asks, walking up to join F. and I at the display.
“I’m telling the artist which pieces spoke to me and what they said.”
“Art talks?” he asks confused.
“It says all sorts of things if you’re paying attention,” I say and point to one of my favorites of the showcase. “This one says, “Look out, World. Here I come.”